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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183726">the spykids in the fridge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto'>impossiblepluto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MacGyver (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cold Open Challenge, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Episode: s02e21 Wind + Water, Found Family, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), small reference to Mac and Jack's Army Days, spy siblings, teenageRiley and dadJack memories</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:42:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold Open Challenge Day 4: After escaping from the freezer in 2x21 Wind + Water, family snuggles are needed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Dalton &amp; Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton &amp; Riley Davis (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis &amp; Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the spykids in the fridge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A day late but that's okay. In the Cold Open Challenge schedules and deadlines are arbitrary and we're just happy for more fics, am I right? Thank you everyone for reading, commenting and kudo-ing. I'm truly grateful that you're enjoying these!<br/>This week is like the gift that keeps giving because next week, when I'm finally finished writing I'm going to devour everything everyone has been writing and I can't wait!</p><p>And also thank you to CommanderBunnBunn and Kailene for helping me write some advice Jack gives to teenage Riley.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riley was thirteen the first time it happened. Or at least the first time she recognized it. It’s a memory she tried forgetting, burying, but it comes blazing to life at inopportune moments.</p><p>It was seven in the morning on the very first day of summer vacation and Jack pounded on her bedroom door. No, it was a knock. He never pounded. He didn’t yell. He might be loud but he was always careful. Gauging her reactions. Like he knew that loud noises and sudden movements made her skittish, though it wasn’t a fact that she’d put together until much, much later. </p><p>But it was the very first day of summer vacation. Jack was awake way too early and forcing Riley to be up way too early. </p><p>“Riley and Jack’s Day of fun,” he crowed, grinning maniacally. She rolled her eyes. </p><p>He dragged her to breakfast at his favorite diner. She ordered coffee, and hid behind the mug while he correctly pointed out which patron belonged to which car in the parking lot.</p><p>“You should take this show to Vegas,” Riley deadpanned, pretending she wasn’t paying attention, though her gaze drifted to the window watching as the last guests to leave climbed into the car Jack picked for them. She ignored the fist bump he offered her.</p><p>He gave some weirdly specific advice, well, all the time, but especially when they sat waiting for their meals at this diner. That a well-placed steel-toed boot would stop almost any attacker and if she felt like she was being followed to keep turning until she made a square, confirming it and staying in populated areas. Not that this was different than warnings her mom gave her when she was going out, but there was something in Jack's eye when he said it. Something she wasn't able to give a name to.</p><p>She was focused on the menu, ignoring the way the waitress cooed over their breakfast date. Regaling them with stories of how her husband took their girls out for a celebratory last day of school ice cream sundae the night before. </p><p>Rolling her eyes again, Riley ducked further behind the menu, but not before she saw the way Jack’s eyes softened and filled with longing. Her jaw clicked. He’d better not knock up her mom to fulfill some fantasy of taking his kids out for ice cream. </p><p>Breakfast was delicious. She has to admit, Jack’s got… decent… taste. In food at least. And she was happy that this diner was becoming one of their traditions. Just the two of them. She tried not to have visions of Jack bringing her here in celebration of getting her license, or graduating high school, or maybe when she came home from college on breaks.</p><p>The Santa Monica pier was next on Jack’s itinerary.</p><p>“Come on, Riles, don’t make me ride it alone,” Jack begged, gesturing to the roller coaster.</p><p>“We just ate breakfast. A huge breakfast. You didn’t say anything about a roller coaster.”</p><p>“Come on, it’ll be a challenge,” Jack pushed her gently into line. “You love a challenge.”</p><p>“How often is this thing inspected?” Riley bit her lip, flinching as the coaster rattled overhead and it’s riders shrieked with delight and fear. Jack guided her through the turnstile, distracting her with feats of clairvoyance about the other riders waiting with them as the line weaved its way to the loading platform.</p><p>“No psychic powers here,” Jack laughed. “Just mad observation skills.”</p><p>When they reached the end of the line, Riley reluctantly clambered into the car after Jack. She closed her eyes as she strapped into the cart. “I’m going to kill you.” </p><p>Jack chuckled in delight as the coaster lurched forward. Shimmying and shaking, bouncing and rattling. </p><p>Their ascension towards the first big drop was entirely too long in Riley’s opinion. Then ended much too quickly. With a scream her hand flew out, catching Jack’s and squeezing tightly. She barely noticed the white knuckle grip she kept on his hand through the end of the ride. </p><p>And she was both terrified and laughing too hard to notice the way Jack smiled and squeezed back, and kept hold of her hand until they were walking down the ramp exit of the coaster. Until she noticed and dropped it. </p><p>He led her through a maze of carnival games, head on a swivel until he found the exact game he wanted to play, and won her a small stuffed bear with a kewpie-doll fauxhawk. A sly smile crossed his face when he realized he could outsmart the rigged game and coached Riley into winning the grand prize, a giant teddy bear that Diane was absolutely going to scold him for bringing home.</p><p>Corndogs, cotton candy, and another three rides on the coaster, Riley was exhausted and ready to head for home when Jack pulled into Pizza Paradise.</p><p>“Haven’t you had enough of the arcade games?”</p><p>“But- but- Riley, skeeball,” Jack protested.</p><p>She raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“And the pizza here is amazing.” </p><p>“We just ate,” but her protests fell on deaf ears. And the pizza there was amazing.</p><p>Jack staked his claim on the machine closest to their table, challenging Riley to a game as they waited for their food. Riley, for better or for worse has never been able to resist a challenge, especially if Jack was the one issuing it. </p><p>She was so focused on winning, brows furrowed in concentration that she barely noticed the waitress, a middle-aged woman, arrive with their pizzas, pausing, watching them play. </p><p>“You must be so proud. She looks just like you,” the waitress said to Jack with a smile. “That expression on her face must be like looking in a mirror.”</p><p>“I-” Jack swallowed hard. Riley expected him to deny parentage, bracing for the blow that she didn’t realize the denial would bring, and was shocked when it didn’t come.</p><p>“I am. I am so proud of her. And I am so grateful she’s part of my life.”</p><p>Her next shot went wildly off course, ending the game, and she conceded defeat.</p><p>That night she practiced in the mirror, raising one eyebrow and then the other. Lowering her brow, narrowing her eyes and scowling in what she called his “drop the bathroom tile and nobody gets caulked” look.</p><p>And spent the next two and a half years feigning indifference every time someone looked from her to Jack and commented on how much she reminded them of him. Pretended she didn’t care even as she reveled in his begging her to come with him to the vintage record shop. Waited anxiously for the first day of Christmas or Spring or Summer break so he could drag her out to breakfast again. Late night gaming sessions. Concerts where he bought them matching tour t-shirts and she rolled her eyes at him as she pulled the shirt over her head. </p><p>Until…</p><p>Until he left. Without a word. Without a goodbye. Just gone.</p><p>She wished he didn't leave a trace because then she could pretend it never happened. Instead, she found ticket stubs and t-shirt. When she sang along to the radio, she didn't have a familiar drawl joining her in a duet. She'd catch his expression in her reflection and it sent a stab of pain through her heart. </p><p>She never thought she’d be grateful to remind someone of Jack. </p><p>It’s dark in the diner, aside from the neon glow of the sign and the flash of headlights through the closed blinds, and if she squints it reminds her of their diner back home, hers and Jack’s. It even sort of smells the same, too much grease, coffee permeating the tiles and vinyl booths, cinnamon mixing with onion rings. </p><p>Mac squeezes his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends trying to force his brain into overdrive. He cants his head and bites his lip. </p><p>“I need you to start complaining,” he says suddenly. </p><p>“What?” It is not the burst of brilliance she was expecting from him.</p><p>“Or tell me a long-winded story that doesn’t seem to go anywhere.” </p><p>“You want me to be Jack?” It makes Riley’s heart thud. </p><p>“Sadly, it helps me think.”</p><p>It’s not the first time in the last few years that she’s tried to channel Jack, his bravado and badass attitude. Standing up to terrorists and criminals with a snarky comment and a murder strut. </p><p>Some days she wonders if the confidence she learned from Jack saved her from more grief in prison. </p><p>She opens her mouth and starts complaining in a rant that would make Jack proud. </p>
<hr/><p>Mac’s brain is a busy place. </p><p>To an outside observer, especially one who hadn’t been around very long, it could easily appear disorganized. Spiraling thoughts, chasing down rabbit trails, jumbles of equations, scientific theories, and finishing Jack’s sentences. </p><p>Chemical equations and the molecular breakdown of every object within arm’s reach floats through his brain unbidden. The world around him a puzzle to be solved, a Rubix cube he spins until the pieces click together. </p><p>He’s used to it. His brain always chewing on something, percolating in the background until he gives himself a problem to fix and something to focus his brainpower on. </p><p>On occasion though, even to himself, his brain is a too loud, too vibrant place with too many thoughts demanding more than their fair share of space and his attention. </p><p>Right now, in this dark diner, the overwhelming thought of keeping Riley safe on what was supposed to be an easy mission with a focus on enhancing Riley’s field training, is jamming cogs. </p><p>Jack teases him, well, most of the time, really, but especially when he gets like this. That <em> “your brains are gonna start leakin’ outta your ears.” </em> Or that he needs to <em> “give the hamsters a water break, they’ve been runnin’ too hard.” </em> He can <em> “see the puffs of smoke from overloadin’ the circuits.”  </em></p><p>He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, can’t pinpoint to an exact moment but it was much later than he would like to admit that he realized this was one of Jack’s tactics for pulling him outside of his head when he was lost too deep. Say something wildly inaccurate that Mac couldn’t help but correct. </p><p>Complain about something like a stone in his shoe, or the lack of martini’s on the Phoenix jet, anything that would be the least of their worries if Mac couldn’t disarm the bomb. </p><p>Sing a wildly inappropriate song. Like “Free Fallin’” as their plane plunged from the sky, or “Heat of the Moment” when the warehouse around them was going up in smoke. </p><p>Or tell the most droning, pointless long-winded story. </p><p>It was a bomb he couldn’t disarm, in a location he could barely reach. The smothering heat of the desert sending sweat dripping from under his helmet, that Jack forbade him from removing while in the field, into his eyes. There was no time to evacuate. </p><p>He was going to fail. A couple of days before Jack was scheduled to head home and Mac was going to blow himself up. And possibly Jack too. </p><p>He’s sure Jack could see his fingers shaking through the scope.</p><p>“You’re about as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Jack drawled through the comms, confirming Mac’s suspicion.</p><p>Mac’s jaw tightened with irritation. The last thing he needed was Jack’s voice in his ear, distracting him when he needed his attention focused on detangling the wires and detaching the filaments in front of him. </p><p>“Had an old barn cat on the ranch back home. Great mouser but dumber than a box of rocks. Didn’t matter where you were, if you weren’t paying attention, ol’ Crooked Tail would find his way underfoot and get stomped on. And he’d yowl like you were murderin’ him. I remember one Thanksgiving, my momma was carrying the bird to the table when that old dumb cat got inside, and he wasn’t supposed to be an inside cat, but that didn’t stop him none. He wanted to be a lap-cap something fierce. He’d drape himself around my neck when I was working on homework. Or pretending to do homework. Anyway, he wrapped himself around her ankles, and if my pop hadn’t been there to catch her that bird would have ended up in Great-Aunt Edna’s lap. And the thing about Great-Aunt Edna, she never would have let my momma live that one down.”</p><p>Mac grunted, laser-focused on the task in front of him, that a moment ago seemed impossible.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure she let old Crooked Tail into the house just to cause trouble. She was a feisty, spiteful old woman. Wasn’t really an aunt, some sort of distant cousin on my pop’s mom’s side.”</p><p>Mac snips a wire and strips off the casing. </p><p>“One time, I about punted ol’ CT across the yard. Never even saw him, was walkin’ across the porch and the next second my foot connects with something soft ‘n furry. Twisted up my ankle trying not to step on him. He was howling louder than I was and I spent the next week on crutches.” </p><p>Mac snorts.</p><p>“He’s a lucky son of a gun too, cause my field goal record is still a legend back home.”</p><p>“A fictitious tale?”</p><p>“What? No.”</p><p>“Cause technically the definition of a legend…”</p><p>“Ain’t nothing fictional about my skills on the football field. You been talkin’ to Jimmy Leroy?”</p><p>“Thought it was like your karaoke championship, or your chili cook-off-”</p><p>“All of those are real,” Jack sputtered.</p><p>“Or your show-stopping whip-cracking at the rodeo.”</p><p>“Boy, you better hope that bomb does go off cause I might have to pop you if you keep questioning my skills.”</p><p>“Too late, it’s disarmed,” Mac leaned back on his heels, tension leaking from his shoulders, and smiled.</p><p>“Yeah? Huh? Look at that. I knew you could do it.” </p><p>Mac smiled, warmth filling his chest at Jack's affirmation.</p><p>He didn’t realize at the time, how much he looked to Jack to steady the rapid-fire thoughts in his brain. Made them slow down and wait their turn to be recognized. His voice, like his physical presence, solid, unwavering. Standing behind him and protecting him, guarding him against enemy hands, physical threats, and his own at times traitorous mind. </p><p>Maybe he didn’t recognize it because he didn’t have much experience with it. Loyalty, stability, someone who really cared about what happened to him. He had Bozer, of course, and his friendship and devotion couldn’t be discounted, but this was different.</p><p>And maybe he didn’t realize it then because he didn’t want to realize it. Jack was days away from getting out and leaving for Texas, adopting him as some sort of security blanket seemed like a terrible idea for surviving the next several months of his tour. Alone again. Acknowledge that his presence had started to mean safety, security, in a kid who had trouble accepting such ideas would screw with his head faster than any bomb at his feet. </p><p>Jack was like a bomb, he had no feelings about Mac. </p><p>Even after he stayed, Mac vacillated, trusting Jack entirely, believing he might stay, and holding the man at arm’s length.</p><p>It’s too quiet in his brain without Jack’s voice rambling in his ear. Or maybe it’s too loud. Too many thoughts warring for attention. Too many fears demanding to be heard without Jack’s easy cadence, soothing the ragged edges of his mind. </p><p>He doesn’t know when he went from an annoyed eye roll when Jack started gearing up for a monologue to expecting it, a smile quirking on his lips as soon as it started, and he has no idea how Jack realized that would be helpful long before Mac did. </p><p>Mac tugs on his hair. He wanders behind the counter, assessing the tools available, the materials he can use in a build. Pacing the length of the diner’s grill and scowling. </p><p>Instead of a plan, his brain conjures up an image of Jack laughing at a six-second video on the old Vine app. </p><p>
  <em> “Come on, brain, think of things. Come on, brain, be so smart.” </em>
</p><p>He almost growls in frustration, shaking his head to free himself from the memory of Jack’s giggling laughter. <em>“Pretty sure that’s you, hoss, when you’re standing in a room trying to make something to save our skins out of nothing.” </em></p><p>Unfortunately, that’s it. That's the solution.</p><p>“I need you to start complaining,” he blurts out. </p><p>“What?” Riley says in surprise.</p><p>“Or tell me a long-winded story that doesn’t seem to go anywhere.” Maybe, if he’s lucky she won’t figure out what he’s-</p><p>“You want me to be Jack?”</p><p>“Sadly, it helps me think.” </p><p>Thirty seconds later he has a plan. Maybe not his best plan. Maybe not even a good one, but one that will buy them some time. </p>
<hr/><p>Here’s the thing: Jack doesn’t hate being ex-fil. </p><p>In terms of jobs that don’t include him actively watching his kids’ backs, it’s not a bad gig. </p><p>It’s not the same as the way he truly enjoys running the Phoenix TAC teams. Training with them, qualifying new recruits, modifying policies and writing procedures that help keep everyone at the Phoenix, from agents, to lab techs, to the janitorial staff, safe, but these rare stints as ex-fil let him stretch a different set of muscles.</p><p>He likes being the cavalry. He likes the moment the exhausted agents arrive at the airstrip or sometimes the empty field and he gets to ask with a grin “<em> ready to go home?” </em></p><p>He likes laying down protective firepower and making sure the teams he’s assigned to make it home in one piece. Firing up the engines while they’re diving into the plane or the chopper and yelling at him to <em> “go, go, go!”  </em></p><p>It’s a reminder that he’s very happy in his role as a field agent, but the break is sometimes nice.</p><p>Except right now, at this precise moment. </p><p>He and Mac had been talking about furthering Riley’s field training experience. Jack meant letting her take point on one of their ops. Mac meant two-man missions, which when he laid out his argument, Jack saw the value. </p><p>Only he saw that two man team being himself and Riley. Not that he would be the one left behind while his kids went out and got themselves into trouble without him for backup. The low-level anxiety that is always humming in the back of his mind when it comes to his kids safety spikes. He's going to have permanent wrinkles on his forehead.</p><p><em>"Sorry to break it to you, old man, you already do."</em> Mac and Riley's teasing voices blending in his head.</p><p>So, no, Jack doesn’t hate being ex-fil. He just abhors sending the kids out there alone. The very definition of his job is to protect these kids. He doesn't like being placed in a position where he can't.</p><p>And it's not that they aren't fully capable of taking care of themselves, he just... he just... okay, he's absolutely a helicopter parent who has no concept of boundaries and can't let go.</p><p>It's not really his fault though. Given the opportunity, both of these will take insane risks and he's gotten used to being the voice of reason in their lives.</p><p>He trusts Mac. Trusts him implicitly. Trusts Mac with his life. Trusts Mac with Riley’s life.</p><p>He just doesn’t necessarily trust Mac with Mac’s life. </p><p>Mac left strict instructions that he was not to follow them. Had to gall to hand him the keys to his grandfather’s fishing lodge, as if he’d even need the keys to get in there, and tell him to take a few days off. They would join him up there for a long weekend when they were back. If he did that, they'd spend that long weekend replacing the floorboards that Jack wore through while pacing.</p><p>Instead, he badgered Matty until she consented to let him be their ex-fil.  </p><p>He stalks toward the crime scene tape, pushing aside the fear he felt and schooling his face into a granite mask. Of course, the explosion he felt rock the ground while over at the airstrip where he waited was a Mac-sized eruption across town. His heart seized in his chest when he received word that an ambulance and fire trucks were dispatched to Mac and Riley's last known location. </p><p>Raising the tape above his head, he steps across the perimeter, silencing the officer that protests with a stern look and a “son, just don’t,” and keeps walking. </p><p>He’s still ex-fil. He's still their backup. Still their protection. The mission parameters have changed slightly. He’s coming to them, but no one is going to stop him. </p><p>Jack spots them across the parking lot, sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, wrapped in emergency blankets. The frown deepens on his face. It’s a warm night and the diner is still ablaze, the parking lot is cooking, but Mac looks pale in the firelight and he thinks Riley’s hair is wet. </p><p>A blood pressure cuff is fastened Mac’s arm the tubing dangles as he gestures emphatically, arguing with the paramedic.</p><p>Riley puts a hand on his shoulder. He pauses, looks at her for a moment before going back to arguing. </p><p>Jack squares his shoulders, stiffening his spine, falling into character, the hard-ass government agent who has been tracking this serial bomber and his partner across the midwest for the last six months and ready to gloat that they’ve finally been caught.</p><p>That’s not what comes out of his mouth when he reaches them. </p><p>“Jack Dalton, Delta Force, I’m here to collect my children,” Jack announces in a stern, disappointed tone that would have made his pop proud.</p><p>Mac looks up, eyes widening in surprise and then dropping to the ground, which Jack will pretend is him playing the role of a chagrin teenage son expecting to be grounded, not because he’s making a sorry-ass attempt at hiding his laughter. </p><p>He doesn’t know how that story works. Matty, is going to murder him if her indignant yell that <em> “this is not the story we have backstopped” </em> in his ear is any indication. He reaches up, gives a tug to his ear lobe disguising the motion that turns off the audio. </p><p>Riley glances between him and Mac, then plays along, crossing her arms, and staring sullenly at him and he feels like he’s just regressed about fifteen years. Her pulse ox covered finger taps against her bicep. </p><p>“Is there any reason they need to go to the hospital?” Jack asks the medic as he glances between the kids. They look mostly upright. A little pale, a little shaken, and mild shivers wracking through them. Mac doesn’t have lines of tension around his mouth or eyes that speak of pain. Riley looks relaxed lounging on the bumper. </p><p>The paramedic confirms that their vital signs are stable, but argues they were just in an explosion and have some mild hypothermia and should probably get checked out.</p><p>"How did the two of you manage to get hypothermic in a fire?”</p><p>Riley glances at Mac. They’re starting to take this sibling thing a little too seriously, nonverbally confirming their story before they answer him. “We were locked in the freezer.”</p><p>Jack scrubs at his face.</p><p>“Give us a sec,” he glares until the paramedic takes a few steps back then squats down in front of the kids, getting eyes on them, despite the fact that he feels like they’re teaming up to pull one over on him, has eased his anxiety. </p><p>“Do you- now think about this for a second, don’t just answer, and don’t look at each other. Do either of you need a doctor?” He looks from Mac to Riley then back again. </p><p>Mac opens his mouth immediately. He pauses for a breath and glances at Riley despite Jack’s orders. “I don’t think so. A hot shower and a sweatshirt. Maybe something to eat and I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“I had a jacket,” Riley murmurs. “I never got as cold as Mac did.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jack nods solemnly.  “You weren't hurt in the explosion?”</p><p>Two heads shake in tandem.</p><p>“I reserve the right to cart either of your asses to the closest hospital at any point if I deem it necessary, but give me a minute and I’ll get you out of here.” </p><p>Jack stands, turning to the medic. “I’d like to get them home. I’ll sign any necessary waivers and make sure they see our family doctor in the morning.”</p><p>Mac is already peeling the blood pressure cuff from his arm and shrugs off the emergency blanket. Riley follows his lead a moment later and together they trail behind Jack, looking like two teenagers who know what they did and how much trouble they’re in. </p><p>Jack expects to be stopped at any moment, but keeps his best Delta glare on his face, clearing a direct path through the cops and the firemen on the scene straight to his black SVU that may have helped sell the intimidating bit a little. </p><p>“Did you just, ‘these aren’t the droids you’re looking for’ us out of there?” Riley asks, climbing into the backseat. </p><p>“You don’t have to sound so shocked.”</p><p>“Yeah, come on, Riles, our old man’s got skills.”</p><p>“Watch it, boy, you’re already grounded,” Jack waggles a finger in Mac’s direction before breaking into a grin. “Nah, climb in the back with your sister. Share that blanket until I can get you somewhere warm.”</p><p>Matty is waiting on the line when he clicks his comm back on. She delays their ex-fil and instead directs him to a motel for the night. Adjoining rooms. </p><p>Which means two showers that Jack immediately herds them towards when they walk through the door after he’s cleared the room. </p><p>“Go get warmed up,” he says, tossing them their go bags. “I want warm fingers and toes before you come out again.”</p><p>Jack cranks up the heating unit, twisting the knob as far as it will go. It shimmies and shakes, rattles and rolls but after a few minutes, in which Jack thought he might have to grab Mac from the shower to keep this small Kansas town from having the second explosion of the night, heat starts piping into the room. </p><p>Room service is closed for the evening but there’s a twenty-four diner that’s going to find itself twice as popular in the morning since it’s competition went suddenly out of business, across the street and somehow Jack convinces the desk clerk to pick up his triple order of soup, sandwiches, french fries, and hot chocolate. </p><p>Jack is just finishing tipping the twenty-something kid when Riley wanders into the room in a soft oversized sweatshirt that he bought her for Christmas and leggings. Her hair wrapped tightly in a towel. She curls up on one of the beds, accepting the hot chocolate Jack hands to her. </p><p>“You’re warm?” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m good.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>Riley rolls her eyes and sips her warm beverage and Jack decides that the best confirmation she could give him. Besides, between the two of them, she’s not really the one he has to worry about. She's usually honest and compliant.</p><p>He crosses the room and leans against the bathroom door, listening. A moment later the flow of water shuts off. </p><p>“You okay, Mac?” Jack taps on the door when he grows tired of waiting and his concern wins. </p><p>“I’m fine, Jack.”</p><p>“Just cause, with as short as you’re wearing your hair these days, Riley’s got like four, maybe five times as much as you and she’s already finished.”</p><p>The door opens, releasing a puff of steam. Mac steps out, dressed in heather gray joggers, and a green Henley. His cheeks a rosy, healthy pink, and his hair askew from being towel-dried. </p><p>“There he is,” Jack grins, reaching out to ruffle the soft blond locks. </p><p>Mac ducks under Jack’s arm. </p><p>“Is this for me?” He reaches for the take-out bag sitting next to the TV on the dresser. He tears into the paper-wrapped sandwich, taking a large bite. </p><p>Jack pouts, following Mac back to the middle of the room, accepting the sandwich Mac hands him. Unwrapping his sandwich slower and taking a much smaller bite, watching Mac flop onto the opposite side of the bed from Riley. He studies them, eyes narrowing, assessing them as he passes out the remaining food. </p><p>Mac snatches the remote from the bedside table and clicks on the TV, giving Riley a knowing smirk. Then he sighs. “Come on, big guy,” Mac pats the middle of the bed between them. </p><p>He doesn’t even pretend to protest, crawling into the Jack-sized space between them. Riley ducks under his arm, snuggling against his shoulder, happily munching on her fries.  Jack lifts his other arm as an invitation to Mac.</p><p>“Two arms for two kids,” he offers with a grin. </p><p>“How are you going to eat with both your hands occupied?” Mac questions. </p><p>“I’ve just been waiting around at the airfield eating snacks waiting on you two troublemakers. I’m good.”</p><p>With a dramatic sigh, Mac shimmies across the bed, Jack’s arm settling across his shoulders. </p><p>With his kids literally back under his wings, Jack feels the last of his tension melt away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A link to the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ckc_FeW8AUs">"Come on brain"</a> vine that I repeat to myself when writing and could definitely see Mac and/or Jack repeating when on a mission.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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